I do it for the sticker. That's partly why I opt against registering for an absentee ballot. And mostly why I revel in going to the polls. The rush from determining a candidate's fate aside -- let alone a nation's -- you just can't wear satisfaction on your lapel without the sticker. I've tried. No one notices.
But this year getting an "I Voted" sticker on Election Day is considered decadent. Political ploys have become increasingly unscrupulous and so there's pressure to get votes in. Early. Thanks to robocalls and the ever constant, ever slanderous television ads, Americans (especially those without Tivo) are tired, confused and weary -- leaving campaign officials to fear the fate of November 4th.
Even the Obama Camp, with its pundit predicted lead, refuses to be seduced by the polls. And so now, in a time where an "I'm voting for Obama" response will no longer do, volunteers like myself go door to door in swing states and bait voters. Almost taunting them, as if to test their allegiance. Subtext: Prove it. Vote. Now.
During these visits I'm often met with hesitation. So I find myself reassuring voters that their ballot, though cast early, will not be lost, but rather counted and secured. Doing so can even alleviate a potential system overload, given the possibility -- or should I say hope -- of an unprecedented voter turnout. I can't help but entice them with the promise of shorter lines; the hope of a smaller margin of error this time around. And, of course, there's still the sticker.
When that doesn't work, I suggest that voting early could put an end to volunteers like myself relentlessly knocking on their doors. In fact, "we update these lists daily," I tell them. That gets their attention. Suddenly, they reassure me that they do in fact recall their closest polling place; and that they'll even venture there later that same afternoon. And I believe them -- until I am there again, knocking on some of their same doors, the following weekend.
That drill, however, changed with Juanita. With her, there was no negotiating. Rather, within seconds of opening the door, she refused to vote early.
Immediately, I was alarmed. Not as much by her words, as I was the frailty of her eighty years. At her age, I knew every day mattered. But soon thereafter, I discovered that something else mattered even more to Juanita.
An African American woman, born in South Carolina in the late twenties, Juanita had moved to Pennsylvania just so she could vote. And she did. She voted for Kennedy then. And -- upon first seeing him on Oprah -- she was voting for Obama now. The only two elections, in her opinion, that really mattered.
When Juanita eyed my "Smart Women Vote Obama" button, she smiled. "Doesn't it feel good to vote for a candidate?" she asked me. "And not just against one?" I took a moment. I hadn't thought of it that way. But she was right. I had vehemently voted against Bush twice before. And now, unequivocally, I was voting for Obama. There was a difference.
"My vote means something" she went on to say, countering my pleas. "So I don't care if I wait in line for hours. I don't even care if it's raining. I'll still stand there, proud, waiting as long as I have to for my voice to be heard on that day."
At first glance, this was a woman who didn't seem to grasp the threat of voter caging, election fraud or even electronic failure. And I sensed, even if I told her, she wouldn't care -- at least like campaign officials would. Somehow, voting on Election Day, counted as much, if not more, than the vote itself.
To Juanita, voting early didn't have the same cache. It wasn't sexy. Or at least sexy enough to make the statement she wanted to make -- that she wasn't just casting a ballot, she was embarking on a civic journey that could only be fulfilled on November 4th.
This was the journey of a woman inspired.
If talking to voters has taught me anything, it's that inspiration moves people towards meaning. It moves them towards hope on Election Day. And it leads Americans to yearn to be a part of something on one of the most critical days of our lifetime.
Is that selfish? Maybe. Is it risky? Perhaps. But is it worth the adrenaline rush in the end? Evidently so.
So what do you say to the woman who tells you her vote means something? And that she's going to cast it on her terms?
I wanted to say, but you're eighty. And you live in Nevada. Which is why your vote matters, even more than mine. I wanted to say please don't risk this for us all. But I didn't. Instead I watched her move slowly, somewhat reassured of her health -- by the mere fact that she was soon heading to a rhythmic drum class at her church.
"I used to be like Oprah," Juanita told me. At first, I was unsure of this connection -- until she confessed, "I couldn't dance before. But I've got rhythm now." I watched her then beam with pride.
And that's when it hit me. Be it a feeling -- or be it a sticker -- Americans have their reasons to vote. And they just want to vote their way. And live their way.
Remaining hopeful, I figured if Juanita could find her rhythm at eighty, then America could still find its way home after eight years of economic distress, pain and war. Sure, Juanita's vote refused to recognize a tainted political system. And while that may not ease the minds of campaign officials this week, ultimately it doesn't matter. Her vote, through her own process, still had impact. It counted. To her. And quite frankly, just witnessing that, made a difference to me.